Early Experiences

A menacing presence

One evening before my 15th birthday, I felt a slight but unusual sense of doom hanging over me as I retired for the evening. Having silenced the fluorescent tubes illuminating my austere bedroom, I crawled into bed and curled up against the wall, hoping to find comfort in distancing myself from the door. I closed my eyes and prayed for sleep. Doom gave way to terror as I felt the unmistakable presence of someone in the room with me. I could feel the entity looming over my bed, as a predator poised to pounce on unsuspecting prey. I wanted to steal a glance, to see for sure whether the demon was real or imagined, but my fear was overpowering. I felt an adrenaline surge and sprang for the door. As I ran down the hallway, door swinging wildly behind me, I turned my head and saw... nothing. The hallway was empty. I crept back to my room and flipped the switch, bathing the room in the sterile light I'd become accustomed to. There was nothing. I felt relief sweep over me, and then a sickly feeling as I pondered what had just happened.

The lukewarm water from the bathroom tap felt oily on my face. I peered into the mirror and studied the image looking back at me. Dark circles inched toward my pupils, slowly consuming the deep brown of my retinas. This face wasn't mine. And then I heard it. A voice, speaking to my through the mirror. It was low and dark, unlike my own voice and sinister in tone. "I hate you" were the words I heard as my eyes became burning coals staring back at me. I fled to my room, slammed the door, and leapt beneath my blankets. Again I prayed for sleep, and eventually, it came.

I've never discussed this incident with my parents. We were at odds, always fighting over grades, friends, and unmet expectations. Religion ran deep in my family. 3 hours of church on Sunday, youth events mid-week, and a scouting program heavily salted with the pervasive religion of my suburban neighborhood. I did not want to discuss a demon speaking to me through a mirror. I hoped the incident would fade away, that I could simply avert my eyes from the memory and move on. But the voices would come again.

A voice from above

Our church encouraged all of its members to go to one of their temples after their 19th birthday to participate in a ritual — a rite of passage for teens entering the adult world. I prepared for months for this important occasion. I pushed through and read the bible from cover to cover. I prayed daily, yearning for a close relationship with the god who's house I would enter.

When the day finally came, I eagerly stepped through the large oak doors and opened my mind to whatever I might experience in this holy house. I felt fully prepared.

The rituals felt very odd, like something I'd expect to see in a movie about a cult. That was an uncomfortable feeling. But many older, wiser members had been through this and spoke so highly of it that I brushed aside my discomfort and searched for meaning in the rituals being performed all around me. Suddenly, a voice shouted something so foreign and unexpected that my heart skipped a beat. I whirled around, half-expecting the odd statement to be part of the ceremony. But I was in the final row of this congregation. Only a wall stood behind me.

"This is not from God. This is a very small man trying to understand a very large universe." blared the disembodied voice. I was shocked. This contradicted everything I'd come to believe, everything I'd studied, and left my expectations for this holy experience shattered. I turned away from the wall, hoping no one had noticed my bewildered face searching the empty wall. The voice continued reciting the same 18 words, over and over. I calmed my nerves and held still. Was this God? Was this his messenger? My religious history had my head reeling with these questions, but the voice now seemed to emanate from within. It was as if my own lips were speaking to me from between my ears. Gradually, the voice faded, as if a volume knob was slowly being dialed back to 0. Then it was gone.